Miranda

16

Musings on Venice

Clean sand and
dirty people.
A man talks to his dog.
The dog
isn’t real.
Weed
sprouts up everywhere,
from clinics
to t-shirts,
and the smell
perpetually
lingers
in the air.
Oh, I want
to hate this
godforsaken place,
but
I can’t.
Maybe it’s
the sun,
shining down on me
so kindly.
Or the breeze
caressing
my skin and
doing me a favor
by carrying
cold to sooth
the heat.
No,
there is
something else.
Freedom.

I’m walking
alone
down the boardwalk.
Fifteen henna booths,
lots of bad fast food,
and overpriced tourist shops
make up the scenery.
Not long ago,
these places would give
a sense of
security
to me.
That was before.

I picture
me and him
in our swimsuits
and towels
tied around our necks
like superhero capes.
I smile,
yet tears
well up in my eyes.
I
miss
him.